


Come Back and Haunt Me

by a_ufo_party



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, PTSD, Paranormal Investigators AU, angstier than i had originally planned, but it's got a happy ending, flashbacks and mentions of domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 14:25:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12583832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_ufo_party/pseuds/a_ufo_party
Summary: Upon being visited by the ghost of her abusive husband, Mrs. Beckett hires Fitzsimmons Paranormal Investigations to rid the house of the terrifying presence. However, between the case's subject matter which is sensitive to Fitz, the confusing words of the apparition itself, and the two partners' complicated feelings for each other, the case is more challenging than they had hoped.





	Come Back and Haunt Me

**Author's Note:**

> Massive trigger warning: Domestic abuse and PTSD play a large part in this story. There are also flashback to Alistair Fitz. Do not read if these subjects are triggering to you.
> 
> Title from The Scientist by Coldplay
> 
> Enjoy!

The motel lighting was yellow and dingy, providing a meager flicker by which Leopold Fitz reviewed their new case.

Photos of a man, angry wrinkles etching his brow, lay sprawled across the queen size bed. 

Dr. Oswald Beckett, age 53, had disappeared from his family several years ago. At the time, his wife believed him to have run off with his assistant from work, though he was never found by the police. Now, their ten years old son was claiming to see his father looming about the house. Or rather, an apparition of his father.

A ghost, to be precise.

Mrs. Beckett had, at first, dismissed these claims as simply a child missing his father. However, two weeks ago, she had seen the spirit with her own eyes. 

Over the phone she had sobbed to Fitz’s partner, Jemma Simmons, “Please, you’ve got to believe me! It was around eight o’clock at night when I went into the kitchen for a glass of water that I saw him. The air in the house was suddenly freezing cold, like...like the heater stopped working, or something. He was standing in the doorway with this wild look in his eyes. And...and he didn’t leave a shadow. The light moved right through him. Oh lord, I think the bastard is dead and back to taunt me!”

According to the file Jemma had written up, the Beckett family had not been a happy one. In addition to Mrs. Beckett’s belief that her husband was disloyal, he had a rather severe anger problem. Once his wife had ended up in the emergency room, but would not give reason for her black eye and twisted wrist.

Just reading it made Fitz’s stomach turn. It was too familiar. Too reminiscent of his own childhood, his own father.

At the sound of the motel shower turning off, his partner appeared in a puff of steam.

She wore a towel around her torso, and let her sopping hair cling to her neck. “Fitz, have you seen my comb? I cannot believe I would have forgotten it in our last room.” 

“Have you checked my suitcase? It may have gotten mixed up in my stuff.” He suggested, examining the infrared thermometer to ensure it was working as needed.

“Ah, here it is!” She grinned, waving the brush triumphantly. “I had it with my purse.”

Smiling back, he tried his best to avoid admiring her bare shoulder, glistening with beads of water. His partner was completely stunning, but that’s all she was to him. 

His Partner. 

His best friend. 

No more than that.

(Or so he often tried to convince himself…)

After pulling on an oversized t-shirt (one of Fitz’s, it seemed) and a pair of pajama shorts, she flopped onto the bed and sighed happily, “So, are we all set for tomorrow, then?” 

“I think so. I need to put new batteries in the EMF detectors, then we’re sorted.”

“Good. In that case, let’s turn in early. I have a feeling this will be rather challenging. I mean, how does one prove that there is a ghost of a man who has not even been declared dead yet?”

Gathering the photos back into the folder, Fitz set them aside and sunk under the covers beside her. The sheets were rough and smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke, but he had grown used to staying in less than welcoming motels. One must, if they want to pursue paranormal investigation as a career. 

“That is an excellent question, Simmons. One which we will hopefully find an answer to.  _ Tomorrow. _ ”

She laughed at his exhaustion. “You’re right. Goodnight, Fitz.”

“‘Night, Jemma.” 

With that, they turned off the buzzing lamps and settled into a comfortable silence.

* * *

 

_ Fitz clutched his blankets, listening to his parent’s muffled arguing through his bedroom door. _

_ “Yer spoiling that boy. He’s gonna end up even more useless than he already is with this kind of treatment.” _

_ “Hush, Alistair. He’ll hear you!” _

_ “So what if he does? Maybe it’ll sink into that thick head of his. He’s going to school.” _

_ “But he’s sick-” _

_ “I don’t give a damn. He’s my son and if I say he’s going, then he’s going.” _

_ There was a shattering of glass, presumable from Alistair’s beer bottle.  _

_ “Please, he has a fever-” _

_ His father’s voice grew closer. “Listen here, woman! The only thing wrong with his head is the lack of brains.” _

_ “Do not go into his room! He is resting!” A fierce, angry tone overtook his mother’s ordinarily warm voice. _

_ “This is my house! I go where I damn well please! Now get out of my bloody way.”  _

_ With that, the door was flung open and the lights clicked on. _

_ “Get up, Leopold. I don’t care what your brain mother told you. No son of mine will be staying home from school because he’s too lazy to push through a cold. Get yer ass out of that bed, now.” _

_ Fitz felt his knees shake as he scrambled to his feet, wide eyes flickering to his mother. “But-but mum said-” _

_ “Do not talk back to me boy!” He father roared, raising a hand in warning. _

_ Fitz flinched. _

_ Instantly, his mother marched forward and grabbed his father’s arm. _

_ “Alright, that is enough!” She seethed, pulling him into the hallway. “Get out. Go to work. I don’t want you here-” _

_ The slap which silenced her resounded like a gunshot, piercing Fitz’s chest with second hand hurt. _

_ His mother’s mouth fell open as stinging tears welled up in her eyes. _

_ For a brief moment, Alistair Fitz seemed to show some remorse. However, his face quickly regained it’s cold indifference and, without giving his wife another glance, he strode down the hall and out the door, closing it behind him with a loud crack. _

_ A brittle silence settled over the house, the sort you could shatter with a pin. _

_ Then, Fitz nervously approached his mother. She stood in the same place, numbly staring at the front door of their tiny house and clutching her cheek. _

_ “Mum…” He started, touching her hand lightly. _

_ However, at his touch, the woman flinched away before breathing shakily, “Go back to bed, Leo, my love. Your father didn’t...he didn’t mean any of this.” _

...

Fitz sat up in a cold sweat.

Some pale sunlight was beginning to stream around the thick curtains, but Jemma remained sound asleep beside him. 

With a sigh, he rose from the bed and peeled off his drenched tee, before rummaging through his suitcase for a change of cloths. The cold air conditioning felt good on his damp skin, grounding him after the nightmare. 

The day his father had left.

It was a recurring memory which plagued his slumber nearly once a month. 

Once in the restroom, he splashed cold water onto his face in an attempt at shaking away the residual anxiety. He needed to be focused today. 

His dad had never believed in ghosts. He claimed they were just tricks Mrs. Fitz used to help their pathetic son deal with his lack of friends. But his mum believed. She used tell him stories on their back porch at twilight. As they watched the orange sun sink behind the autumn leaves, she would point to little things: a swing drifting on it’s own, a shadow slinking through their garden, the goosebumps on his arms.

“They’re all around us, love. But most of them are nothing to be frightened of. They simply have unfinished business here on earth. It is our job to be kind to them and help them where we can.”

“How can we help them, mum?”

“Well, see that swing? Perhaps the spirit wishes to play on it one last time before she may move on.”

“Move on to where?”

“Somewhere good.”

“May I go help her?”

“I think that is a very sweet idea, Leopold.”

When he had run across the yard, the air grew significantly colder. However, at eight years old he hardly thought twice about it.

“Hi there. My name’s Leo. Do you want to swing?” He had whispered softly. And although he heard no response, a shiver had crawled up his spine. 

After pushing the seemingly empty swing for several minutes, the air had then grown warm once more, and something seemed to whisper to him,  _ thank you. _

That was the moment he had decided to become a paranormal investigator. This plan had only been strengthened by his father’s ridicule. And meeting Simmons in college.

“Morning Fitz! Are you nearly ready?” His partner appeared in the bathroom door, interrupting his thoughts.

Plastering on a confident smile, he turned to face her. “Nearly, Simmons. Make us a cuppa for the road?”

“Already did!” 

“What would I do without you?” 

“Well I guess you’d make your own tea, wouldn’t you?”” She smirked. “Hurry up, then! The Beckett’s are expecting us in an hour.”

So, with a final glance in the mirror at his tired, shadowy face, he tried to push away the small nagging voice which seemed to whisper:

_ Leave this case alone... _

* * *

 

_ Knock knock knock _

“Who is it?” A wavering voice sounded from behind the door.

Fitz and Simmons stood on the porch of the tiny, distressed house, each carrying a large bag of their equipment. The cottage was surrounded by bare trees and overgrown grass, giving it an eerie, lonely aesthetic. The scent of campfire smoke, and something sour carried in the frosty air.

“Fitzsimmons Paranormal Investigations, ma’am!” Jemma chirped, peering through the door’s cracked window. “We spoke earlier this week?”

“Oh...oh, thank God. Please, hold on a moment.” The haggard voice replied.

“This place is a bit run down, isn’t it?” Fitz mumbled, observing the piles of rotting leaves strewn about the porch. Presumable it had once been painted white, but now the color was almost entirely chipped away.

“I think it’s charming, in a southern gothic sort of way,” replied Jemma, smiling at the black cat which rested on the railing.

“That’s a bit cliche.” He nodded at the sleeping animal.

In response, she rolled her eyes amusedly.

After a full minute of locks clicking and chains rattling, the door was swung open to reveal a rather petite woman. She had yellow-grey hair and soft wrinkles, providing her with a somewhat motherly appearance. But the dark circles beneath her eyes suggested a difficult life.

“Sorry about that. I’ve been...a little paranoid since all this started happening.” She flailed her hands nervously. “Please, come in.”

“That’s quite alright, ma’am. We are used to these sort of receptions, right Fitz?” Jemma charmed, following Mrs. Beckett into the living room.

However, Fitz did not hear her. The moment he stepped through the door, he found himself frozen. Dread’s cold, clawed hand seized his chest violently, blurring his vision. It was as though an icy mist had rolled in, clouding his surroundings from view. There was a faint noise, a radio perhaps, playing a crackling, unsettling tune. And something very large and familiar seemed to loom behind him, just out of site...

For a full minute he stood still, until he felt a soft hand on his arm.

“Fitz?” Jemma whispered, voice colored with concern. “Fitz, are you alright?”

“Hm...hm, what?” He shook his head instantly, feeling the chilly fog roll away.

“Are you alright? You were in some sort of trance for a moment.”

“No, I’m okay. I think I’m just...tired. Didn’t sleep well last night.”

Jemma’s face suggested that she did not fully believe this excuse and remained concerned. However, she did not press him further. “Well, follow me, then. We’re all set to have Mrs. Beckett sign the paperwork.”

“Ok. I’ll-I’ll follow you.” He nodded.

And with that, he gave one glance over his shoulder, but found that the looming presence had fled from view.

* * *

 

“Now, as I mentioned earlier, we specialize in ghosts and hauntings. Should this turn out to be a case of demonic infestation, we would be happy to refer you to our colleague Alphonso Mackenzie.” Jemma spoke levelly, handing Mrs. Beckett the paperwork to sign. “This form gives us permission to access your husband’s possessions should we require a trigger object. It also grants us access to your home for this week.”

“Oh, yes, and about that. You mentioned on the phone that you may need to spend a night or two here. If so, I hope you won’t mind sharing a room.” Mrs. Beckett looked up from the document she had been signing. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, the house has seen better days, so the rooms available are very limited.”

“No, it’s okay. We actually prefer to share.” Fitz nodded with a smile.

“Oh! Are you two…” The older woman started.

Instantly, Simmons interrupted. “Oh, no! Fitz and I are...we’re just partners. But he’s correct, we do like to share. That way we can work on the case into the night.”

“Of course,” replied Mrs. Beckett. “Alright, was that the last paper to sign?”

“Yep, that’ll do it.” Taking the documents from her, Fitz added them to the case folder. “Now, you say the apparition tends to only show itself after sundown. Is that so?”

The woman gave a wobbly nod, glancing around the room with apparent unease. “Yes...yes, that’s correct.”

“In that case,” Simmons continued for him, “might we have a look at his old belongings? We’ll likely lose light in an hour or so and then we can begin to make contact with him.”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

“Is there anything we ought to know about your husband, Mrs. Beckett? Any favorite songs or collections he kept?” Fitz questioned, fingering the ceramic angels which were posed on the fireplace mantel.

For a moment, the older woman bit her lip, thinking. Then, she snapped her finger. “The Hollies! He was a huge fan of The Hollies, had all of their records.”

Jemma’s eyes lit up. “Excellent! Any specific song?”

“Well, [The Air That I Breath](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_wACCgCCjRc) was our wedding song-”

“Perfect! Things with a sentimental value tend to work the best.”

“Alright, well...good. The record player is in the attic, along with all of Oswald's other junk. If you’ll come with me, we can carry it into the kitchen, or wherever it is you’d like to set up.”

* * *

 

By the time the last ray of orange sunlight had streamed through the window of the cozy kitchen, Fitz and Simmons had set up the record player, along with several trinkets which Mrs. Beckett had pointed out to them in the attic: a collection of baseball cards, a set of shot glasses, and a watch.

Jemma had busied herself with lowering the lights, while Fitz tuned their Spirit Box. The little device scanned through radio channels at such a fast pace, it became possible for spirits to manipulate it and speak to the living.

As the last lamp was turned off with a click, he felt an icy shiver crawl down his spine. 

There was undoubtedly a presence there.

A presence which did not want them to reach out.

A presence which seemed to warn with everything save for words that they should turn back and drop the case.

However, when he turned to voice this concern to his partner, he shook his head. Jemma’s eyes were bright with excitement and her face was flushed in anticipation. She looked so confident, so sure of herself, of them, that he pushed away the fear. He trusted Jemma more than anyone, and if she did not seem bothered by the case, then it was probably just his paranoia.

“Alright, Fitz. Are you ready?” She asked with a grin. The candles she had placed on the counters cast a warm, flickering glow in her eyes.

“Mhm. Whenever you are.”

“Let’s do this, then. Turn on the music, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Nodding, Fitz lowered the needle onto the large record. Instantly, the twang of a guitar rung out through the air, followed by the crackling voice of the singer.

_ If I could make a wish _

_ I think I'd pass _

_ Can't think of anything I need _

His stomach dropped.

That was the tune he had heard earlier upon arriving at the house. That staticy, unnerving song.

Swallowing roughly, he tuned up the Spirit Box.

Instantly, the retro song was joined by an insistent, shushing white noise. 

“Mr. Beckett, if you’re here, please make yourself known to us.” Fitz spoke reluctantly.

A minute passed.

“Again, Mr. Beckett, if you have indeed returned, please give us a sign-”

The lamp on the table flickered slightly.

Jemma sighed in relief.

“Hello, Mr. Beckett.” She began, tucking her hair behind her ear. She spoke with a calm, level, confidence which Fitz envied. No matter how terrifying the case, she was steady and determined. “My name is Jemma Simmons and this is my friend Leopold Fitz. We were asked by your wife to-”

Suddenly, the Spirit Box static was interrupted by a low murmur. 

_ Or a growl… _

Then it resumed its hum.

“Mr. Beckett, would you mind speaking up for us? We would like to figure out why you’ve returned from beyond the grave.” Fitz stepped forward, closer to Jemma.

They waited for a moment as the static continued.

Then, the grumble was audible again. The white noise cut in sporadically, but it was enough to make out words.

_ “Why-I can’t-move on-?” _

“Why can’t I move on.” Jemma repeated to Fitz, lifting her eyebrows; intrigued.

“Well, Mr. Beckett, that’s what we’re hoping to find out. Can you tell us if you have anything that you wanted to do or say before you died?” Fitz continued.

_ “...no.”  _ The voice responded. It sounded angry.

“No you can’t tell us, or no there isn’t anything you had yet to accomplish?” Jemma asked.

_ “No-things left-done.” _

“Are you sure? If you tell us, then we will be able to help you move on.”

_ “Sure-leave me alone-now.” _

At this point, the song was drawing to an end and Fitz’s unease had nearly doubled. Approaching the Spirit Box, he turned it off just as the last note of The Air That I Breath came to a close. If there was anything he had learned as a paranormal investigator, it was this: if the spirit was done talking, you damn well better be too.

“Well, that was fascinating, wasn’t it?” Jemma said thoughtfully.

* * *

 

“You spoke to him, though?” Mrs. Beckett asked, tears welling up in her wrinkled eyes. “So he  _ really is  _ here?”

“Yes ma’am, we believe so,” replied Fitz.

“What did he say?”

Placing a hand on the woman’s shoulder, Jemma spoke. “Well, the good news is that he is communicating at all. Sadly, we are hardly closer to knowing what it is he wants.”

With a sigh the woman pinched the bridge of her nose. “I know what he wants. He’s here to make me miserable one last time.”

“Can you think of any other reasons he may be here? Anything he spoke of accomplishing, but never did?” asked Jemma.

“I...I can’t think of anything. I’m sorry.

“That’s alright. Just let us know if something comes to mind.” Sitting on the sofa beside her, the English woman smiled, “May we have permission to interview your son? He may have some ideas.”

Mrs. Beckett shrugged, rising to her feet. “Sure. But he is a pretty quiet kid. You may find him hard to talk to.”

“That is quite alright. Fitz can be hard to talk to as well, so I’m sure I’ll manage.” She winked at her partner.

Fitz smiled slightly, still uneasy.

Five minutes later, the older woman returned with her son in tow.

Upon entering the room, the thin ten year old fixed his eyes on Fitz. 

“Jason, sweetie, I want you to meet Mr. Fitz and Miss Simmons. They are going to help us with daddy-”

“Are you going to stop the ghost?” He interrupted her blankly, continuing to gaze at Fitz.

“We will do our best, Jason.” Jemma said kindly, patting the couch beside her. “Would you like to sit down? Mrs. Beckett, you may have a cup of tea in the kitchen. We’ll call for you if we need anything else.”

“Alright...a cup of tea sounds wonderful, actually.” The older woman smiled wearily. And with that, she disappeared through the door.

Jason still stood in the center of the room, motionless.

With a deep breath, Fitz approached him and knelt to his level. “Hey buddy. Is it okay if we ask you some questions?”

He nodded, crossing his arms.

Glancing at Jemma to make sure she had the notebook ready, he led the boy to a chair in the corner and helped him sit down. “Okay, when did you first see the apparition?”

“The what?”

“The ghost, Jason.” Jemma interrupted, smirking affectionately at Fitz.

“A month ago.”

“And what did it look like?”

“It was my dad.” He spoke matter-of-factly, lifting his eyebrows.

“Yeah, okay.” Fitz nodded. “When you saw your dad, did he say why he was here?”

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Jason shook his head.

“Well, did you get any feelings that might...suggest a possible motive? Sometimes, when people see ghosts, they seem to communicate with an ambience, rather than a voice.”

“No.” Jason crossed his arms again.

Crossing the room to stand beside Fitz, Jemma asked, “How  _ did  _ you feel when you saw him, Jason?”

“I don’t know...scared, I guess.”

She smiled kindly, “That’s very understandable. Seeing a ghost for the first time can certainly be-”

“It wasn’t because it was a ghost. It was because it was my dad.”

Instantly, Fitz stiffened. The little boy’s eyes had taken on a wide, fearful shadow which was all too familiar to him. It was a look he had seen in his own eyes multiple times in his youth.

“Did your dad not treat you well?” Jemma’s eyebrow furrowed as she knelt to face Jason.

He shrugged. “He didn’t like me. Or mom.”

“Did he ever hurt you?” She took her hand in hers.

Looking up at Fitz, he nodded. “Yeah.”

A painful lump grew in the older man’s throat. Clenching his fitsts, he dug his nails into his palm but said nothing.

The little boy carried on. “He used to say that I was...that I was stupid and he broke my toy truck one time. And he wouldn’t let my mom buy me a new one. He said it was stupid for me to cry about it.”

With each word, Fitz felt himself grow more agitated. Every fiber of his being wanted to run to another room and indulge the tears which pricked at the corners of his eyes.

“Oh Jason, I’m so sorry, dear.” Jemma pulled the child into a hug, her eyes watery with emotion.

“S’okay. He was right about some things. I am not very smart.”

“I’m sure that’s not true!”

“No, it is. He used to chase me if I couldn’t think of the answer to something. Maybe he’s back to chase me again.”

Unable to maintain his composure anymore, Fitz turned and fled from the room, down the hall, and out of the front door.

* * *

 

Breathing heavily, Fitz fell into the passenger's seat of their car and buried his face in his hands. A wave of memories, of feelings, had suddenly drowned him. Feelings he had thought were long gone. His hands shook mercilessly as he dug his palms into his eyes, trying to contain the pulsing sobs.

After a moment, he heard the other door open and Jemma seated herself beside him. 

Wordlessly, she placed a hand on his heaving back.

“I’m okay-I’m-I’m okay.” He shook his head, leaning away from her touch. “I’m sorry, I’m being...I’m being dramatic. I don’t know what’s gotten into to me.”

“Fitz, listen to me,” Jemma spoke sternly, rubbing his back despite his flinching. “Do not ever apologize to me for something you cannot control. You are not being dramatic! I’m the one who should apologize.”

Lifting his eyebrows, he wiped his tear soaked cheek on his sleeve. “No, Jemma, this has nothing to do with you-”

“No, it does. You’ve told me about your dad before. I should’ve thought about you...with this case. I’m so sorry, Fitz.”

“Really, Jemma, it’s not you. I read the case file, same as you. I just...I thought I could do it.”

“You know, you don’t have to stay on-”

“No, I think I do.” He interrupted, looking up at the house’s glowing windows. Against the lamplight, he could see the silhouettes of Jason and his mother. 

With a sigh, Jemma took his hand. “Fitz, we’re not the only paranormal investigators in the area. If this is too...familiar to you, there is no shame in giving it up.”

“It’s not a pride thing, Jemma.” He sniffed, shaking away the remaining panic, “It’s...something bigger than that. I think we are here for a reason. I think...maybe I’m supposed to help these people.  _ We’re _ supposed to help these people.”

Jemma had always approached the supernatural with a far more scientific perspective than her partner. While Fitz relied on feelings and emotions, she was suspicious of anything that could not be seen with her own two eyes.

However, at his remark, there was no glimmer of skepticism in her soft brown eyes.

Squeezing his hand, she spoke gently. “Alright, then. Just remember, I’m right here with you. And if there is anything, anything at all, that is too much for you, do not hesitate to let me know.”

“I know.” He nodded, squeezing her hand back. 

The confidence of her grip made his heart ache.

“You’re my best friend, you know that, right Fitz?” Jemma spoke after a moment, releasing his hand to start the car.

“Yeah...I know.” He smiled slightly, watching the windshield grow speckled by a sudden drizzle. “And you’re…”

He paused.

“I’m what?” She lifted an eyebrow, smirking.

“You’re…” Biting his tongue, he felt a sudden panic. What the hell was he going to say? He hadn’t even thought his words through. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, he took a deep breath. “You’re the most important thing in the world to me.”

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, Jemma spoke faintly. She sounded half shocked, half flattered. “Oh…”

They rode the rest of the way to the motel without another word.

* * *

 

That night, Jemma behaved strangely. 

Upon entering their room, she had gone straight to the bathroom to take a shower, which was not unusual. However, when she reappeared, she had an odd expression on her face. Multiple times, Fitz looked up from his paperwork to find her staring at him with a severe, thoughtful expression. 

It made his stomach churn with nerves.

Had his comment in the car made her uncomfortable?

Did she now regret sharing a room with him?

Sharing a bed?

Had it upset their comfortable, effortless friendship?

Finally, after he had tried to leave the bathroom, and Jemma had tried to enter at the same time, ensuing a rather awkward fumble of stepping in either direction in unison, and apologizing, he sighed heavily. “Jemma?”

“Mhm?” 

“I’m sorry if what I said earlier...if it made you uncomfortable-”

“Oh!” Lifting her eyebrows, she got an odd, strained look on her face. “Oh, no Fitz, it’s fine-”

“-’cause I didn’t want you to...that’s to say, I only meant it as-”

“-as a friend, yes I know. And it was very sweet.”

“Okay, good. Because...it is true. You are, but our friendship is what matters to me.”

“Yes, I feel the same way.” She smiled, meeting his gaze with an air of forced casualness. “We’ll always be friends.”

“Yeah, okay.” Nodding, he stepped aside so that she could enter the bathroom. “Okay, good. Glad we are on the same page.”

“Absolutely!” 

With that, she walked past him and closed the door behind her with a click.

The moment she was out of sight, Fitz let out a long breath.

Why did he feel so disappointed?

The interaction had gone how he had hoped it would! 

They were friends.

They would always be friends.

They both agreed on that.

So why did his heart feel like it had just been pulverized?

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled his sweater over his head and tossed it aside. 

Then, the bathroom door opened.

Before he knew it, a determined Jemma had lunged across the room.

In a matter of seconds, her lips were on his.

And Fitz’s heart shattered in relief.

Only then did he realize just how much he had wanted this. Wrapping his arms around her decidedly, he let his mouth move against hers. 

Pulse pounding.

Hands fumbling.

Chest aching.

Was this even real? Were her fingers truly combing through his curls? Were her lips really dancing with his? 

If it was a dream, he never wanted to wake up.

Jemma Simmons was kissing him. Kissing him with a hunger, a decidedness, as if she had pondered the prospect before.

After a moment, she drew back for breath, though her arms still remained around his neck.

“Jemma?” He asked hoarsely as she leaned in to kiss him again. “Are you...are you sure you want this?”

“Stop talking, Fitz,” was her breathless reply. 

“But I thought that-“

“Bloody hell, yes I want this.”

“Okay...okay, good-“

His words were cut off by her lips capturing his.

And as she deepened the kiss, pressing his back into the mattress, Fitz felt his heart take on a new kind of ache. One not at all unpleasant. 

And for the first night since they had accepted the case, he did not once dwell on the anxiety which had clouded his head upon accepting it.

Instead, as the rumbling of thunder outside mingled with their heavy breaths and whispered relief, his mind was filled only with thoughts of her.

* * *

 

The next morning, Fitz awoke to find Jemma’s head resting against his chest.

Her fingers gripped the front of his t shirt loosely, while her long, soft breath brushed against his arm.

Despite having just made it...well, pretty damn obvious that she shared his feelings, Fitz still felt a stab of nerves as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss on her head.

What if she woke up and jumped away from him, declaring that this was a mistake? What if she no longer wishes to be his partner now? What if-

Looking up at his sleepily, Jemma smiled.

And that smile was enough to silence any doubt he had. “Good morning, Fitz.” 

There was a content amusement in her tone which prompted a smirk from him, “So...last night.”

She joined his laughter, sitting up straight, her shoulder still touching his. “Yes. Last night.”

“It was...it was-”

“It was quite lovely.”

Searching her face to ensure she was not simply humoring him, Fitz continued, “Was it? Did you…”

“It was everything I had hoped for and more, if that’s what you are asking.”

“You’d hoped for that?” His heart lept. 

“Of course! Didn’t you?” Eyebrows furrowing, she took a comb from the side table and began to brush out her tangled hair.

“Are you kidding? I’ve wanted that to happen for as long as I can remember. I just didn’t think that...that you did.”

“I thought the same thing of you.” Turning to smile at him for a moment, she rose from the bed and began to rummage through her suitcase. “We certainly did waste a lot of time, didn’t we?”

“Well, we’ll just have to make up for that time.” Fitz said, without realizing how suggestive the comment sounded.

Jemma, however, lifted her eyebrows and grinned with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “That does sound lovely. Sadly, it will have to wait until after we get back. You still want to stay on this case?”

“Mhm.” Crossing the room to their closet, he pulled on a sweater and some slacks. “And I wanted to ask...is it possible for me to speak to Mr. Beckett alone tonight?” 

“Oh...sure! May I ask why?”

Honestly, Fitz did not fully know why. The thought had just popped into his mind somewhere in the night, and he had not been able to shake it. He wanted to speak to the man who had made this family, so similar to his own, so miserable. Though he knew not what he was going to say.

“I’ve, um...I’ve got an idea.”

“Well, I hope it works!” With a final grin, Jemma disappeared into the bathroom.

* * *

 

The Spirit Box filled the room with its buzzing hum, nearly drowning out The Hollies’ song once more.

Fitz’s hands shook, but it was not out of fear. As he thought of Jason, the young boy who had gone through precisely what he himself had experienced, a fortifying rage sung through his veins. 

He would figure out why this evil man was back, and then he would banish him once and for all.

“Mr. Beckett, I know you’re bloody here, so let’s talk.”

As usual, there was a pause.

Then, the ghost’s low, grumbling voice cut in: _ “What-do you-want?” _

“I’ve spoken with your son. He says you used to hurt him. Is it true?”

_ “...why-you ask-?” _

“Why won’t you just leave them alone? Your family has suffered enough at your hands. Why did you have to come crawling back from the most permanent state of absence?”

_ “...who-the hell-are you to-” _

“I’m the man who was hired to get rid of you. Your family don’t want you here. You’re leaving was the best thing that ever happened to me-”

Fitz froze.

Shivering slightly, he corrected himself. “To...them.”

_ “If I-could leave-then I-gone.” _

Pushing down his own swelling emotions, he spoke gravely, “If you want to go so bloody bad, then go! Your family deserves to have some closure…” 

Instantly, realization dawned on him. 

_ Closure! _

Lunging forward, he turned off the Spirit Box and shouted for Jemma.

“Yes Fitz?” She burst into the kitchen moments later. “Did you think of something?”

“I think so. Will you ask Jason and Mrs. Beckett to come to the kitchen?”

With a proud glint in her eyes, Jemma approached him. And, without saying anything, she rose onto her toes and pressed her lips to his. 

“This is going to work. I can feel it.” She whispered once they had parted.

* * *

 

“Okay, thanks for coming Jason, Mrs, Beckett. I think that I may have figured out why your husband is back from the grave.” Folding his hands, he watched the older woman’s face melt with relief.

“Yes? What is it?”

She looked so hopeful.

What if he was wrong?

What if he was getting their hopes up for no reason?

Then, his eyes met Jemma’s and she gave a little nod.

“So, um...I think this is a second chance for you. I think it’s not your husband that has unfinished business, but it’s you.”

“I don’t understand.” Mrs. Beckett shook her head.

“I think that he is only here so that you can get closure. That’s why he can’t move on. He is stuck until you both get what you need.”

“So, how to I get rid of him?

“That is an excellent question,” Jemma stepped forward, catching on to the idea. “I believe what Fitz is suggesting is that, should you speak to your husband and tell him how he wronged you, then you will gain the closure you require. And, he will no longer be of use here. Is that right, Fitz?”

Grinning, he nodded at her.

After a moment, Mrs. Beckett sighed, “Well, I suppose it’s worth a shot. Jason?”

The little boy shrugged.

“Alright, great. Well, I’ll go set up the Spirit Box and then we will give you two some privacy.”

The little family spoke to the ghost for what felt like an eternity. 

And, the entire time, Jemma held Fitz’s hand, matching his grip until both of their knuckles were white.

“It’ll work.” She whispered to him, a comforting certainty in her voice. “I know it will work.”

She repeated such assurances until Fitz believed her. 

And finally, after nearly an hour, the family emerged from the kitchen.

Mrs. Beckett sported teary lines down her cheeks, but Jason did not. 

Instead, the little boy was smiling.

It was only then that Fitz realized he had not seen Jason smile until that moment.

For a second, no one spoke.

Then, Fitz rose from the couch and crossed the room to stand in front of them. “Is he gone?”

“He’s gone!” Flinging her arms around his neck, Mrs. Beckett gave a tearful laugh. “Thank you! Thank you so much.”

“We’re just happy we could help, ma’am.” Jemma joined them, beaming.

And as the older woman clung to him, Jason smiled, and Jemma held his hand, Fitz felt something in his chest that he had not known was absent until then:

Peace.

* * *

 

**_Two months later…_ **

 

The new sign on Fitzsimmons Paranormal Investigations’ office shone proudly, welcoming desperate people into the tiny apartment, and giving them the promise of assistance and closure. 

Upon renting the new space, Fitz and Jemma had wasted no time in moving into the back room together. She was right, they had certainly dragged their feet enough long enough about getting together. After a week of properly dating they had said “I love you” and after a month, moved in together. Jemma’s parents had been surprised at the speedy relationship, but Fitz’s mum had seen it coming for years.

To his intense relief, Fitz had not dreamt of his father since the Beckett case. Free of the burden which had weighed him down for years, he found himself even more committed to each case they accepted. And Jemma, who had always been a proficient at her job, opened herself up more to the uncertain and emotional aspects of the paranormal. 

Two month after the Beckett case had come to a close, they had called the little family to check in with them. To their delight, Mrs. Beckett reported that, not only had the ghost not returned, and an air of restfulness had finally enveloped the house.

 

_**The end.** _

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed that! If you did, reviews always make my day ;) 
> 
> HUGE shout out to @JewishFitz on tumblr for the prompt!
> 
> Thanks again for reading. Hope your Halloween was extra spooky!


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